


Zakuski

by seafoam (panickyintheuk)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5947687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panickyintheuk/pseuds/seafoam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Russian term for appetizers. Lit. "something to bite after"; sometimes translated as "little bites".</p><p>Hannibal one-shots - stories are unrelated unless otherwise stated. Main pairing will be Hannibal/Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dobrou noc

Will is usually careful to prepare himself for whatever he might see at a scene, from the most zealous psychosis to the most mundane sadism. He wasn't prepared for this, though. The killer - he hesitates to call her that, but her hand did hold the knife - is terrified, half-starved. Young, very young. This is not her design. Somehow it's harder even than usual to untie her thoughts from his as he lies down that night on crisp hotel sheets.

He dials Hannibal's number before he can second-guess himself, and it doesn't ring very long before it's picked up.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal says, and his voice is like cool water on a burn.

Will swallows. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing that can't wait, I assure you."

"No, I mean - describe it to me." He's too tired to be properly embarrassed.

"I am sitting in my study, a little distance from the fire, and I am reading an essay on Leoš Janáček."

He can picture it pretty well. He just stops himself from asking what Hannibal's wearing, for the sake of detail. "Sorry, I don't think I know who that is."

"He's a composer. One of my favorites. I'll play you something of his, next time you visit."

"Thank you," Will says, stupidly grateful - for the open invitation, and for Hannibal's easy acceptance of everything that Will is. "Will you read it to me?"

For the first time, Hannibal hesitates. "Yes, but... it is in Czech."

"Mm, that's fine," Will mutters. It's better, even. He just wants to listen to Hannibal's voice, and if he doesn't understand the words, that just means there's less distraction.

He lets himself drift, and finds himself imagining, without meaning to, that his head is laid on Hannibal's chest as he speaks; that Hannibal's voice and heart rumble beneath his ear. It's a soothing thought, as long as he doesn't examine it too closely. It carries him nearly all the way to sleep, but he starts out of it and into silence.

"Hannibal?" he says, not expecting the fearful tremor in his own voice.

"I'm still here," Hannibal says quietly. "I finished the essay. Would you like me to read you something else?"

"Yes," he says, not trusting himself to say anything else. Even the word 'please', he thinks, would break on his tongue and reveal too much.

There's a slight rustling of papers, but when Hannibal starts talking again, Will is sure that he's not reading - he's reciting something from memory. And more than that, he's doing so in his native language.

He knows with a heady certainty that he's being given a glimpse of something precious. Hannibal doesn't do this for just anyone. And nor does Will. There's nobody else he would call in the night, without any explanation or apology, and ask to be read to. And he doesn't have to worry about Hannibal growing to resent him for it, either, because Hannibal is glad to give him anything he needs. In the morning, he'll look back on this revelation with a thrill of terror and promise, but for now, the lullaby of Hannibal's steady murmur keeps him calm.

He'll visit Hannibal, once he gets back - after he's seen to his dogs, he'll go straight there. And, he promises himself, this won't be the last time he falls asleep to the sound of Hannibal's voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much do you bet Hannibal was jerkin' it the whole time? I kid, I kid!
> 
> Those of you who know more about classical music than I do, feel free to weigh in on whether you think Hannibal would actually like Janáček. Kind of went out on a limb there, mostly because I love Janáček.
> 
> By the way, Lithuanian and Czech are not mutually intelligible, and I don't mean to imply that they are. I just mean to imply that Hannibal speaks every single language, fluently! He's Hannibal, he can do what he likes! He has an extra brain where his heart should be! Suck his dick, he's a shark!
> 
>  
> 
> ['Dobrou noc' - 'Goodnight'.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nosZjCTuCZk)


	2. normal, happy

"Why did you get married?"

Will clenches his fists - more to stop himself from closing his hands around Hannibal's neck than out of any desire to throw a punch. "You're a goddamn piece of work, Lecter."

Hannibal just blinks placidly at him, the way a cat blinks while sprawled on a rug, utterly unbothered.

"I wanted to see if I could be normal. Have something normal."

"You can't. Not while I'm alive. I'm like the madwoman in your attic - you'll have to burn me away before you can have your happy ending."

"You're telling me I have to kill you to be happy?"

"That you'll have to kill me to have anything approaching normal, at any rate." He nods towards the knife on the counter. "Whether that will translate to happiness, I could not possibly say."

Will picks up the knife, speculatively. "And you're just going to sit there quietly while I do it, I suppose?"

"I will have to die, one way or another, at some time or another. I have had much leisure time to reflect on that, these past few years. Why resign myself to the possibility of a banal, unworthy death, when I could die at your hand? Come. It's not so much to ask. I am far, far worse than other men you have killed."

Will clears his throat. "Why me?"

"Oh, Will. Aren't we getting a little old for games?"

Will moves to him, straddles his thighs. "You love me?" he whispers, and Hannibal smiles.

He traces the blunter side of the knife against Hannibal's stomach, replicating the pattern of his own scar. It would be fitting to gut him, he thinks.

"I'm afraid that even if you cut me open, Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother will not come tumbling out whole," Hannibal remarks. His voice and heart are steady - Will wonders what it would take to rattle him.

He presses forward, to take what he thought he was going to get when their positions were reversed. He deserves that much, doesn't he? As he moves, his hand and the knife in it are trapped between them. He lets their lips meet tentatively, but even the slight touch he allows is too much, like an electric shock. He pulls back and opens his eyes. Hannibal's remain closed.

He retreats further, to release the knife, and Hannibal winces, just slightly. He presses the point into the soft flesh of Hannibal's belly - not hard enough to break the skin, not quite. Then he throws the knife to one side, and Hannibal's eyes fly open as it clatters on the floor, breaking the spell.

"You knew I wouldn't do it," he accuses.

"I can never be quite sure when it comes to you, Will."

Will kisses his neck - he'll work his way back up to the mouth. Hannibal's pulse, under his lips, is faster now. That's the secret, then - Will's kiss can take him apart more effectively than any blade. Will sighs.

"I guess I should have known I wasn't cut out for normal."

"And what of happy?"

Will shrugs one shoulder. "I guess we'll find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea when exactly this is supposed to take place. During WotL somehow? Afterwards? Afterwards, but with canon divergence? I just wanted the conversation to happen.


	3. if you had the sense of humor you would laugh to beat the band

Will has noticed that the better somebody knows Hannibal, the more likely they are to flirt with him. Hannibal has a magnetism that is almost imperceptible at first - your eye might skip right over him - but the more you're around him, the more it seems to grow, until you've been pulled into his orbit without realising it.

Will is handsome, despite his best efforts, and he gets flirted with, but only by strangers. They usually give up after about thirty seconds. At first he'd been irritated when Hannibal wasn't put off, the way most people are, by his initial spikiness - then baffled, then pleased.

Hannibal, by way of contrast, does nothing to deflect flirtation. He doesn't reciprocate exactly, but he's so polite and charming that people walk away from him feeling flattered and satisfied nevertheless. Usually, that is.

Will watches him react to the pair of men vying for his attention - he can't tell if they're a couple or not, but if they are, they're currently more interested in Hannibal than they are in each other. The taller black man is visibly impatient with his rounder, bearded companion, and Hannibal is impatient with both of them. It's extremely rare for him to show it so clearly. It's not long before Hannibal shakes them off and rejoins him, putting a drink in his hand.

"Looks like you have a couple of fans," he says lightly. Hannibal just looks unsettled.

*

"I'm going to have to refer Franklyn, and he is going to take it very personally. But there is nothing to be done."

"Transference is one of the perils of our trade, Hannibal," Bedelia replies smoothly. "You must have encountered it before. Is there a reason why this case bothers you particularly?"

"Perhaps because he sought me out in public. He made a fool of himself. I felt pity for him."

"Unrequited love," Bedelia drawls, "makes fools of us all, doesn't it?"

Hannibal looks at her sharply. She meets his gaze, unflinching.

"Perhaps you are right," he allows, and looks away.

*

Whatever has been building between them is reaching critical mass, surely, Will thinks. It can't be long now before Hannibal makes his move. And if he doesn't, Will is going to. It's not something he's used to, by any means. When he was younger, if he craved sexual release, he'd rely on his looks - wait for a woman to approach him and be receptive to her advances for a change. Always a fisherman at heart, preferring the lure to the chase. It's been a while since he did even that - he's gotten used to being alone. So he's no expert on how to broach the subject, but he knows that Hannibal will forgive him his awkwardness. He might be charmed by it, even.

He just needs to wait for the opportunity - but it doesn't come. Hannibal doesn't invite him out, or over. They still have their "conversations", but even if they're not truly therapist and patient, propositioning Hannibal in his office during a session is surely a bridge too far. And besides, he no longer feels sure of his welcome.

He waits for a dinner invitation, or at least an explanation of some kind, that fails to arrive. He can't understand what's happened. Hannibal painstakingly, persistently carved out a place for himself in Will's life, and now he's withdrawn from it with no warning, leaving Will tipped off balance. He's almost angry. Hannibal could have just left him alone, and he would have been fine - he could have got along the way he always has.

Finally, he's sick of turning it over in his mind. He drives through the dusk and into the dark to Hannibal's house and knocks, propelled by indignation. It evaporates when Hannibal answers the door to him, some complex emotion fluttering across his face. He's in a white shirt and dress pants, socked feet, hair just a whisper out of place. Will swallows.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Hannibal replies cautiously. "Please come in." Courteous as ever.

Will steps across the threshold, and waits only for the door to close before he bites the bullet. "Have I done something to offend you?"

"Of course not," Hannibal rushes to assure him. "I've only been - "

"Jesus, please don't say 'busy'. At least respect me enough to come up with a decent lie." It comes out more pained than angry.

"Will," Hannibal says, a note of helplessness in his voice. Will just waits. "I fear that I have behaved in a way that was - not dignified."

Will splutters out what's almost a laugh. That's the last thing he expected to hear from _Hannibal_. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Hannibal regards him sadly. "You made your boundaries clear when we first met, and I was not as respectful of them as I should have been."

"I'm sorry, is this some kind of - _now_ you back off?"

"I realise I should have done so sooner."

"Well, maybe, but it's too goddamn late now. You can't just make me fall in love with you and then change your mind." Hannibal's eyes widen, and Will's roll. "Yeah, I said it. One of us had to. So spare me whatever martyr routine this is, all right?"

"All right," Hannibal echoes faintly.

"Well, good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> newsflash ur both losers


	4. all i ever wanted for you

Will lies on his side, facing outwards from the bed. He has vigorously scrubbed himself clean, his pale skin pink in places. His eyes are open, but unseeing. Hannibal sits on the bed, combs his hand through Will's hair, still a little damp from his shower.

"You didn't like it," he says.

"I never liked it," Will says, a little muffled by the pillow. "I never understood why you thought I did."

"I won't make you do it again," Hannibal promises him, and he means it to his sinews - at least, he does in the moment he says it, and in the silent moments that follow. Desperation is beginning to tug at him like a persistent child.

"You expect me to believe that you'll keep me around anyway?" Will asks him bitterly.

Hannibal sighs. "You underestimate my care for you, Will. If you had lived out all your years with your insipid little wife, while I grew greyer and greyer in my oubliette, my feelings would never have changed. If I never looked on your face again, or if you visited me every Sunday merely to remark on the weather. It would make no difference."

Will rolls onto his back. "You don't know my wife," he says. "Don't be spiteful." But his hand reaches out. Hannibal settles back on the bed beside him, and takes it.

"You are right," he says. "That comment was unworthy. But my sentiment was true."

Will turns his head, searches Hannibal's face. If Hannibal affected a sincere expression, Will would see through it immediately - but he doesn't need to. He doesn't need to sully his face with disguises. He doesn't lie to Will anymore.

When Will finds what he's looking or, his eyes widen just a little. He props himself up on one elbow. "So why did you always want so badly for me to like it? If you like me as I am, why try to shape me into something else?"

"I thought that if I could show you that it was beautiful, I might persuade you to stay with me. I knew I couldn't keep you blind forever. It was either convert you or lose you."

Will says nothing for an eternal moment, and then, "It was once. But it isn't now. We're conjoined. We don't have to be identical."

Hannibal smiles sadly. "They tend to go hand in hand, in nature."

"Then let's be unnatural," Will says dismissively, impatient with the game of metaphors. "You'll let me stop?"

"Yes."

"But you won't stop."

"Are you going to ask me to? Say, 'If you loved me, you'd stop'?"

"And I suppose you'll say, 'If you loved me, you wouldn't ask'."

"So? Are you going to?"

Will lays his head on Hannibal's chest. "Let's neither of us ask questions we already know the answer to."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at maytheseafoammilk.tumblr.com!


End file.
